The Night Before Christmas
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: How have the lives of the residents of Forget-Me-Not Valley changed over two Christmas Eves? For better... or worse? AWL, two-shot. Secret Santa gift for WinterOak.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer: **Harvest Moon is not mine, of course!

**Note: **Merry Christmas everyone! :) This is my Secret Santa gift for **WinterOak**. First off, I'm sorry I couldn't write about your preferred game, ANB – it hasn't been released in the UK yet, so I was pretty much stuck over that. I chose to write about A Wonderful Life, instead, which I hope is okay! I've split it into two chapters because I think it works better that way. Enjoy!

The Night Before Christmas

PART I

_Forget-Me-Not Valley_

_Christmas Eve_

Snow began to fall in the afternoon, the sky shifting from blue through grey to a thick, threatening white. At first, the flakes were light. They swirled and danced their way through the winter air. The wind began to rise as the day rapidly darkened. Night arrived early at this time of the year, and with it the snow grew heavier.

It was evenings like this that Flora regretted her decision to live in a tent. Usually she enjoyed the freedom of not being tied down to bills or mortgages. It was a casual, care-free life. Currently, she felt more aware than ever of her exposure to the elements. Stood on the threshold of the mine, her fingers wrapped around a flask of tea, she shivered.

Christmas Eve and she was all alone – unless that mad scientist guy came back with his damn camera. Her colleague, Carter, had left for the city to attend an archaeology conference several days ago. He wouldn't be back until the New Year. Flora didn't mind solitude – she liked to have time to herself, to think, and she'd never been one for festivities.

She listened to the wind whistling through the Valley, whipping the snow into a frenzy. In the distance, a horse and rider approached the nearby farm. Hooves clacked along the wooden bridge across the river. Flora squinted. It was Jack, she realised, riding close to Vesta's farm.

She watched him curiously, her head tilted slightly. She thought Jack would have had more sense than to ride in a snow storm. He looked lost, though of course he couldn't be. Forget-Me-Not Valley was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else. Nobody was ever lost.

Flora stood silently for awhile, as Jack wheeled around on his horse. What was he doing? She tentatively raised an arm and called out. "Jack! _Jack!"_

Slowly, at the second time of yelling, his head turned. He grinned a little sheepishly, throwing up his own arm in greeting. "Oh, hi. Merry Christmas!"

"You too." Her hair caught the wind. She brushed it back from her face. "You'll catch your death, you know?"

Jack just laughed. "See you," he shouted, turning away across the snow.

Shaking her head, Flora treaded the frozen earth to where her tent was pitched and, forgetting Jack and his lunacy, ducked inside. She zipped the door up hurriedly. Wind buffeted the canvas, but the tent stayed strong and stable. She fiddled about in the gloom, lighting the gas lamp and making an optimistic attempt at tuning the portable radio. The reception crackled and roared, her ears filled with a rush of white noise. She turned it back off and climbed into her hooded sleeping bag.

Whether she enjoyed the festivities or not, Flora had to admit that going to bed at nine o'clock on Christmas Eve was quite depressing.

It wasn't until the next morning, as she crept tentatively into the weak dawn sunshine, that her mood changed. Only a couple metres from her tent, an object was glinting on the ground. She reached out a gloved hand and brushed aside the snow to reveal a small glass jar tied with a red ribbon. Flora's stomach gave a strange swoop when she realised that she might not have spotted it, half-buried there, if it wasn't for the scarlet ribbon stood starkly against the snow. A shiver more related to excitement than cold ran through her. Wiping her glasses on her jacket, she turned the jar over in her hands, examining it like a true archaeologist. It was a cooking ingredient; a jar full of rich, exotic spices. Actually, it was her favourite. Tucked beneath the ribbon was a hand written note:

_Happy Christmas. I can only apologise for not having the courage to give you your gift in person._

_Maybe next year?_

* * *

Rock lay on his bed as listlessly as if it was an ordinary winter evening – and not Christmas Eve. The sweet smell of baking had been growing from downstairs all afternoon, until it filled his lungs and twisted his empty stomach.

Truth be told, he didn't feel very festive.

"Rock!" His mother, Ruby's, voice drifted up from the kitchen. "Rock, honey, are you coming down?"

"Later," he called back, but he knew he should head downstairs. There were mountains of things left to do: decorations to be hung, food to be cooked, dishes to be washed. Christmas wasn't the time for slacking. So Rock pushed himself off the bed, pulled on a garish striped sweater his mother had left for him and sloped downstairs yawning.

The smell that had been teasing him all afternoon turned out to be gingerbread; stacks of it, in all shapes – trees, stars and snowmen covered the kitchen counters.

His mother fixed him a sympathetic smile as he walked in. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Rock sighed. "Yeah. I'm not dying, mom."

"Good. Then you can help me out here." She handed him a dishcloth and nudged him in the direction of the sink which was piled high with dirty pots.

They worked in silence for a while, until Rock could hold it in no longer and burst out sullenly, "Why did she have to leave?"

He was painfully aware that he sounded like a teenager.

His mother's smile turned from gentle sympathy to real sadness. "Oh, Rock. I know you hoped Nami would stick around. We all did; she was one of the family! I don't think Nami ever liked Christmas very much, anyway."

But honestly? Rock had never cared for it, either. He was an only child who grew up in an Inn. Christmas was usually a boring day in which his parents worked their butts off for the strangers staying with them that year. Nami, though, was their longest staying guest and by no means a stranger – she was hardly a guest at all. For once, Rock had expected to spend the day with a friend.

Now she was gone and it would be just like any other Christmas.

* * *

Jack's feet were numb in his boots by the time he got back home to Moon Farm. He stabled his rather disgruntled horse, brushed the snow from his mane and threw fodder in the troughs. "Merry Christmas," he said jokingly. The cows continued swishing their tails, oblivious.

He realised he'd left the radio on as he approached the farmhouse; the faint strains of an old Christmas carol could be heard. It had to near midnight, nearly Christmas Day. The house was as dark and empty as when he'd left it. In the kitchen, lay the vegetables he'd been peeling for dinner with Tak tomorrow, but he told himself he'd finish them in the morning. Tiredness had crashed upon him in the wake of his mad ride into the snow storm.

It had changed nothing. He hadn't had the courage to so much as knock on the door.

Jack flung off his hat and slumped on the bed still fully clothed. Maybe next year he'd have sorted things with Celia. Maybe.

And Marlin would quit the overbearing act and Vesta might start to trust that he was a decent man that could provide for her. He knew Celia was frail. He knew they were simply trying to protect her.

Protecting her or not, it had lead to a lonely festive season for the pair of them. Jack glanced at the card on his bedside table. Celia had posted it through his letter box, but not lingered long enough to see him in person.

_Hope you have a Merry Christmas, Jack. _

_I love you, _

_Celia. _

_Next year will be different. _

Was it hopeful or bittersweet? Time would tell.


	2. Part II

**Note: **Here's the second part! :)

PART II

_One year later..._

"Do you want tea?"

"Pardon?"

"A cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"No, thank you. I've already had my caffeine quota for the day."

Flora shook her head. As far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as too much tea. "Okay," she called downstairs. "I'll just make one for myself then." She made her way to the kitchen. It had been a desolate area until she moved in two months ago. Now the gleaming pots and pans weren't just for show; they were regularly used. The counters and cupboards were packed with herbs and sacks of rice. Sat on one of the shelves was an unused jar of exotic spices.

It wasn't just the kitchen. Her clutter filled the whole house. It had been transformed from clinical to homely. How much of this Daryl appreciated she couldn't say. He was a man of few words. The Christmas tree, glowing merrily in a corner of the lounge, was all her idea. Among the traditional baubles and lights, was a paper chain she'd crafted out of leftover graph paper.

Living with a scientist was madness, but it sure beat a tent.

Once the kettle had boiled, she took her mug of tea down to lab. Daryl was sat at his desk furiously scribbling. His black hair was stuck up at all angles; he had a habit of running hands through it when he was frustrated with an experiment.

Flora peered over his shoulder. "No luck, huh?"

He sighed and sat back in his chair. "No, I'm afraid not."

She took a seat beside him. They were quietly companionable. She sipped her tea, while Daryl frowned over his equations. "Shall we go to the Blue Bar later? I think they're having a Christmas Eve party." She expected a 'no'. Sweet and apologetic, but a 'no' nonetheless. Though they understood _each other_ perfectly, Daryl was still hardly a social butterfly.

"Uh, okay, yes."

Flora spluttered. "Yes?"

"_Yes_, yes." He laughed. "In any case, I'm not making any progress with this."

"And _in any case_," she said, leaning over to kiss him, "it's Christmas Eve and you should be with your girlfriend."

"That too," he agreed.

* * *

"Hurry up, Rock. We'll be late."

"Mom, no one at the bar _cares._ Just give me a second." He tore around his room, frantically trying to find something good to wear. It was as if his mother had been sneaking into his room in the night and replacing all the clothes in his wardrobe with mad Christmas sweaters. Eventually, he settled on a navy one stitched with a snowflake pattern.

He hoped Muffy would find it cute rather than sickening.

Rock met his parents in the foyer and together they headed into the winter night. It was not yet snowing. The air was crisp, clear and bitter cold as they made the short journey to the bar. Rock's fingers tingled and shook; he rubbed his hands together, wishing it was only the cold and not nerves that were affecting him.

Nami always used to tease him over his feelings for Muffy, egging him on to do something about it and, even though she was no longer here, he was beginning to believe she was right. If anything, Nami moving away the previous year had reinforced her point – there was no sense hesitating. You never knew when your last chance with a person had passed until it was too late.

The Blue Bar was bustling when they walked inside. Griffin greeted them from the doorway. "Happy Christmas, folks."

Behind the counter stood Muffy. Her blonde hair was tightly curled and tied with a shiny red ribbon. She was wearing a Christmas sweater too, but her's was actually pretty – cream coloured and fluffy. "I'll get the drinks," Rock said, pushing towards the bar.

Muffy beamed at him. "Hey. What'll it be? Griffin's made some mulled win specially..."

"Yeah, sure." He was hardly listening, but he gratefully gulped the wine as soon as she'd poured it. Muffy's green eyes went wide. "My mouth's dry," he croaked, inwardly cringing at how awkward he had become in the last five seconds. This was not how he'd planned it.

Muffy laughed. "I like your jumper," she said, moving along the bar to serve Gustafa.

"I like yours too," Rock yelled after her. "Looks soft and it – it reminds me of a cat."

What was he _saying?_

Thankfully Muffy wasn't offended. She paused, bemused, then burst out laughing. "I do love you, Rock," she told him. "You're really one of kind, aren't you?"

"Certainly am." He scuttled back to the corner where his parents were sat. Everything was going hideously. Perhaps someone could lend him some mistletoe?

* * *

Jack was peeling a seemingly never ending mound of potatoes. After that, he had the carrots to tackle and after _them_ the brussels sprouts. He spent all year growing vegetables only to spend all of Christmas Eve preparing them. But he didn't complain.

This year, after all, was slightly special. Dinner with Tak had gained an extra guest – two guests to be precise.

"Need any help?" Celia's pale face popped around the kitchen door. "I'm done napping and you know how I feel useless just hanging around."

Jack frowned. "You sure? I can probably manage."

She shook her head. "Don't be silly. I'm pregnant, not dying." Jack knew she was right, but he was scared for her. She was frail, as Marlin never tired of telling him. "You need to have faith in me," she reminded him, squeezing his hand.

"I know." And he did. In the end, it had been Celia who gave the Blue Feather to _him,_ defying her family and marrying the poor farmer from Moon Farm. Vesta had eventually come around, particularly with the pregnancy and the promise of a new baby following soon after. Marlin, however, continued to resent Jack.

"You remember they've invited us for New Year's?" Celia said, as they chopped carrots. It was like she could read his mind.

Jack fought not to groan. "I remember. Marlin's okay with me coming, right?"

A mischievous smile played across Celia's face. "Of course he's not. But never mind. He will be one day."

Jack remembered the card she had sent him last Christmas – the card he still kept in his bedside drawer. _Next year will be better_, it said. She was right then and he believed that she would be right now.

* * *

The Blue Bar grew increasingly full and noisy as the hours passed by. Rumours about Jack and Celia's absence flew around the room. _"Do you think she's ill?" "Pregnant, I heard!" "Oh leave them be! It is their first Christmas as married couple. Maybe they want to be alone."_

Rock spent his time trying to find some mistletoe and continuing to drink the mulled wine he didn't even particularly like. So far all he had mustered was a sprig of holly Gustafa had attached to his hat.

Soon, to the surprise of everyone, Flora and Daryl walked in. Both were quiet, but smiling and red-faced from the cold. They joined Carter who was sat alone in a corner.

"Listen Muffy," Rock shouted, leaning on the bar with his elbows. He held out the holly he had borrowed from Gustafa. "I don't have any mistletoe, but – "

"Oh, that's okay," she giggled. "I have allergies."

"Now you tell me!"

"Pardon?" The music grew to a roar; she couldn't hear him.

"I said – "

But before he could get any further, Muffy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Rock! _Look!"_

The door swung open and a bedraggled figure crossed the threshold. It had finally started to snow; vivid red hair was sprinkled liberally with snowflakes. The woman glanced up, scanning the gawping crowd. "Nami!" Rock shouted. "One second, Muffy." He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and bounded across the room to greet his best friend.

Nobody heard, over the music and laughter, the clock chiming midnight.

Christmas Day.

* * *

_A/N: There you go! I hope that was okay – I know it was probably a bit cliché and slightly too fluffy. But hey, it is Christmas! Haha. Thanks for reading and Merry Christmas everyone!_


End file.
